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City of Bears: Ruff (Unfinished Draft) | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

Here’s your Patreon exclusive story for the month–it’s the first half or so of the next City of Bears story I’ve been working on. I’ve been enjoying it a lot, but a wave of commissions kept me from finishing it–it probably won’t get finished until next month sometime, when I’ll post it all here for everyone to see. That said, if you want a sneak peek, $5 gets you access to this story, and every other Patreon Exclusive story I’ve published. You can find out more info at the link above. 

City of Bears: Ruff (Unfinished Draft) | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

Masturbation Workout [Pics]

Evan didn’t want to be fat, but he also didn’t really want to do anything to lose it either–or at least, nothing that felt like work. He was a slacker, and a gamer, and as far as he was concerned, being fat was just the price he had to pay, in order to live the life he wanted. He worked an easy job from his apartment as an editor, and spent the rest of his downtime gaming–well, that and masturbating. He didn’t exactly have much of a sex life, since he didn’t even leave the house most days, but he liked his hand more than the few women he’d been with anyway.

Of course the ad seemed too good to be true. “Lose weight doing what you’re good at! Jack off and lose the pounds at the same time!” The first time he saw it on one of his porn sites, he laughed out loud, and didn’t think about it again, until it kept popping up. Eventually, the curiosity got the better of him after a quick wank session, and he clicked on the ad just to see what it was offering–and the site seemed to be just that–jack off to their porn stream, and the pounds would literally cum right off. There was no explanation of how in the world this was supposed to even work, but the site did offer a free trial…so the next time he got horny, he accepted the offer, and after a moment, the site started a slideshow–a rather…rapid one, and one which contained only men.

The site hadn’t given him an option for whether he wanted gay porn or straight porn, but this definitely wasn’t what he was into. He tried to close the window, but it refused, saying he hadn’t finished his workout yet. He spent another minute trying to escape it, and then he found himself getting drawn into the slideshow, and then, a minute later, he had his cock out, and was happily masturbating to the men on the screen.

He lost track of time–and of how many times he shot. He also didn’t think about where he was shooting, he just kept unloading all over himself until, at last, the slideshow stopped, the site said he’d finished his workout, and told him to subscribe. Only after he’d put in his payment information, and signed up for a daily workout regimine, did he finally come back to himself, disgusted, and horrified to find he’d been masturbating for nearly an hour straight. One thing he knew for sure, was that he was never going anywhere near that site again–he closed the window, and went to take a shower, unaware that he was a couple pounds lighter already.

*

But Evan quickly learned he didn’t have much of a say in what he did with that site, now that he’d subscribed. Every day, he’d get a notification reminding him to workout, and unable to stop himself, he would navigate to the site and watch another slide show, jacking off constantly, only regaining control after the session had ended. To his horror…he actually found himself enjoying the sessions. He’d finish them, covered in cum, and feel a…rush, or a high, and just loll in his own cum, rubbing it into his clothes–no longer bothering to shower after. The results were apparent after a couple of weeks. He really was losing weight, and he could barely believe it. It seemed like a price he was willing to pay, and so he kept at it–but then things started getting…strange.

The workouts got longer for one thing. One hour became two, two became four, four would occasionally be six. The men in the sideshow were changing as well. At first, it had been fairly generic men, models, pornstars…but lately, they had been taking on a certain different flavor. Skinheads featured prominently, as did men in workwear. Grungy men, dirty men, piss play and rubber and leather. He was hornier outside of his workouts, and would search out more porn like it to jack off to, thinking about what it might be like to shave his own head…until he came to from a session and discovered he was totally shaved, from head to toe.

More changes came, usually during longer sessions. Tattoos in particular. He was getting rather trim now–he could barely believe it, how much weight he’d lost in a few months. His old clothes had disappeared, replaced by new gear that better fit his new body, all of it like the gear he saw on the skinheads on the screen. To his pleasure, even as his cock and balls had…grown. His balls especially–each was the size of a orange now, and he leaked almost constantly. There was no longer a time when he wasn’t horny–gaming was no longer of interest to him, all that mattered was self gratification. 

Well, that, and the men on the screen.

They were all of a similar type now. Fat, dirty skinheads, mean fuckers, covered in tattoos and piercings, wearing leather and rubber. He found himself admiring them, envying their size. Imagining himself on his knees, licking their guts and cleaning their boots, drinking their piss. The knock on the door startled him one evening–he hadn’t left the apartment or seen another living person in weeks now, and he had no idea who it could possibly be. He…knew he had to answer it though, and who he saw in the hall took his breath away.

“Hey mate–nice tah finally meet ya. I’m your sponsor–or rather, your…”

“M-master,” Evan muttered.

“Exactly,” the huge brute said, and pushed his way inside. “I think you’re done with those silly workouts now–how about you get some experience with the real thing?”

What Would I Do To You? #3 (Boot Cleaner)

What would I do to you this time?

We work together, in construction. It’s the summer, and a sweltering one at that. As we’re chatting one day at lunch, we realize that we both live quite close to one another, and since the site we’re working on is quite a distance away, and neither of us is getting paid the sort of cash we wish we were getting, I float the idea that we start carpooling to the site, instead of driving separately. I offer to drive, if you pitch in on gas, and so the next Monday, I pick you up, and we’re off.

My truck isn’t the nicest, the cleanest, or the largest, but it’s decent enough you suppose, since it’s saving you a good amount of money. The company isn’t bad though, and we have a nice conversation there, the hour long commute flying by. The day at work goes well too, and we seem to be forming a nice friendship–though we run into our first stumbling block on the drive home, when, before we leave, I take my boots off, chuck them behind the seat with a sigh, and drive us both home in the afternoon heat.

The smell is mild at first, but it only grows more intense. You ask if we could use the AC, and I confess it’s broken. The windows too–they only roll down an inch crack before not going any further, and you find it hard to focus as the stench from my boots behind you, and my feet below you, intensify over the next hour and a half, stuck in traffic on the highway. You don’t say anything, because you don’t want to cause any friction–it’s my truck after all, and I should be able to do what I like in my truck, but it’s…unpleasant to say the least. Finally, we get home, you get a breath of fresh air, and wonder how to break it to me that you can’t carpool with me if I ever take my boots off on the way home again.

You never mention it though. It keeps slipping your mind in the morning, and you’re too embarrassed about it on the ride home to say anything. Besides, how can you raise a complaint now that you’ve sat through it a few times? You seem to be getting better at tolerating it at least, but the next week, you say you’d rather drive yourself. I shrug, ask why, but you won’t say. Then tragedy–your truck is having engine issues that weekend, and the mechanic says it’ll be at least a couple thousand to fix it–a thousand you don’t have. You call me up, ask if the offer still is on the table, and I say of course. Come Monday, you’re back in my cab, and this time, you know you have to say something.

That afternoon, as we get to the truck, you confess it–how you want me to keep my boots on, because the smell is awful. But the conversation twists about, and I convince you, instead, to give it a try yourself. It is better, you admit. More comfortable. You even nod off on the way home, and I have to shake you awake. All week, you take your own boots off as well, but on Friday, you make a mistake, and when you go to grab your boots from behind the seat–you grab mine instead.

You don’t realize it until I’m gone, when you catch a whiff of them inside your place. Horrified, you stick them out in the garage…but the smell seems to haunt you. Saturday morning, you wake up and discover the boots are next to the bed…and your sheets are wet with cum–apparently, you had a wet dream. Sunday, the boots are in bed with you, right next to your face, and you’re so horny, you can’t help but jack off with your nose buried in my nasty boots, horrified at what you’re doing, but you can’t help yourself. All day, you keep getting drawn back–you’ve never been this horny in your life, that you can remember, smelling them, licking them clean, loving them like nothing you’ve ever loved.

Monday rolls around, and we laugh about your mistake, but I can see what happened, how my boots have been licked clean, aside from the few cum stains on them, from when you ground them against your dick until you came. That day, going home, you can’t help yourself, can you? Not when I start encouraging you to go ahead, take one of my nasty boots, tie it around your face, and jack off all the way home. How many loads do we get out of you that first time–Four, I think. You’re so horned up, you don’t even question sucking my cock–even if it doesn’t turn you on nearly as much as when I shove my nasty, unwashed socks into your mouth, and get a fifth load out of you.

I send my boots home with you every night now, so you can clean then and worship them properly. If you’re a good bootlicker during the week, I spend the night at your place on Friday and Saturday, wearing my boots for you, smashing your dick with them, using you as an ottoman while I watch TV, tying you up with socks in your mouth and my boot over your face, rubbing you off with the sole of the other until you cum hands free. The commute flies by now, with your face in my crotch sucking my musky cock, or down by the pedals, sniffing and licking my feet after I set the cruise control. But today, I have a new surprise for you.

I’ve told a few other guys on the crew about what a good bootlicker you are, and they agreed to send their boots home with you over the weekend, for a proper cleaning. You look behind the seat, and see six pairs–you know whose they are right away…because you’ve found yourself fantasizing about them more and more. Fifty bucks a pair, for the service, but I’ll keep most of it as a finder’s fee. Still, you aren’t complaining, right? You love your new side-gig more than anything, and it isn’t long before you’re cleaning the boots of every man on the crew–and quite a few of our more open minded neighbors–but mine will always have a special place in your heart. No one, after all, can work up a nice boot stench like me.

Digital Manipulation (Part 5) [Interactive]

Yeah, Trax liked the idea of giving Perrion some muscle a lot. Now that Perrion had been taken down a few pegs, and he wouldn’t be working an office job again in his…virtual life, it was time for him to update his physical appearance a bit. Thankfully, he wasn’t going to be limited by his current body, because Perrion wasn’t much to look at, honestly. Short, rail thin–took care of himself, and was always so focused on his presentation, looking down on anyone who ever looked a little messy–like Trax always had. In fact, he thought part of the reason Perrion had been with him was because Trax made him look better by comparison (and humble, for being willing to date someone so obviously his lesser). Well, Trax would make Perrion exactly the kind of man he hated–big, muscular, stupid, ugly–nothing more than a dumb brute laborer. He found the scenario and loaded it up, triggering it to start up when Perrion’s mind woke from processing the last scenario and encoding it into his memory. It would take about as long as a night’s sleep, so in the morning, Trax would be up, and excited to watch what happens next.

Perrion awoke with a start, unsure of where he was, or what was happening to him. He…could remember something, something about work, and a bar, and…and he didn’t know what else. It was in his head, he could feel it in there, but there was something blocking him from accessing it, like his mind kept telling him it wasn’t important. But that also meant there wasn’t much…there. He needed to get up and…go to work, tight? Or do something? But his mind was just blank, laying there, until someone rolled over in bed next to him. “Well, how about we get started?”

Perrion gave a shout and nearly fell out of the bed. Next to him…he was a stranger, and yet also so…familiar. “Who…who are you?” he stammered.

“Me? I’m Perry–you know me,” the man said, and got out of the bed. He was larger than Perrion, and a bit taller, thickly muscled with a thick coat of hair–but not much cock at all, he noticed. His hair was short, and he had a short beard…but then Perrion realized why he looked so familiar–it was because…because they were nearly twins. It was like he was looking at an alternate version of himself, from some other world, but as soon as he realized that, the thought was gone, locked away behind the same barrier as everything else, and he was just looking at Perry–his…boyfriend. His…alpha. “Now get up–we need to get going with the day.”

Perrion did as he was told–in fact, he did everything Perry told him to do. They had a hearty breakfast, more than Perrion ever would have eaten normally, and then they went to the gym. Perry forced him through a grueling workout, one he barely managed to keep up with, but Perry demanded it, and so he did it, he did everything. It seemed like it lasted for hours, and then they went and home again, and they ate another massive meal, before lazing away the rest of the afternoon on the couch, watching TV, with Perrion spending a lot of time and energy keeping Perry happy–bringing him more snacks, toying with his small dick, tasting and smelling him–then they went to bed, and the next morning they woke up, and they did the same thing all over again–huge meals, a massive workout even harder than the last, and another afternoon and evening spent in front of the TV.

He lost track of the days, and he lost track of himself. Everything blurred together, and the only thing that seemed to hold focus was Perry. Perrion noticed that he was…changing, somehow, in the mirrors of the gym. He would look at himself, and see Perry where he should be for a moment, before separating them apart again in his mind. Perry became…clingy. On the couch, he would always have his arm around Perrion, pulling him in, drawing him closer in bed, waking up in a tight bear hug, like Perry was trying to absorb him. Or perhaps, it was the other way around.

He could almost hear Perry’s words in his mind, even before he spoke them. Perrion knew what he wanted, what he needed to do, even before Perry had to say it. The workouts became easier, and he began to enjoy them. He ate more and more, feeling his frame filling out to match his boyfriend, and the TV which had seemed so idiotic to him before was now…engrossing. He would fiddle with Perry’s small cock, and feel his own respond in kind, both of them orgasming in tandem. He didn’t know when he realized that Perrion had disappeared entirely, but at some point, he did. He was just Perry now, a muscle bound, unwashed pig of a man, satisfied with his own base gratification, and unable to remember a time when he’d been anyone else. Just like Trax had wanted.

But Trax wanted more. That was just the introductory persona, after all–Perry was going to have a new boyfriend in his bed soon enough, once these new habits were sufficiently ingrained after another few repetitions. He’d have a whole new set of habits ready to program into him then, he just needed to decide on what.

So, what sort of spin is Trax going to put on Perry’s now muscular lifestyle?

  1. Steroids, silicone and body mods–make him an exhibitonist freak
  2. Cum, sweat and piss–make him a cumdump urinal
  3. Cigars, booze and masturbation–make him an addicted loser

Here’s the public Twitter poll!

Here’s the supporter only Patreon Poll!

Voting ends in two days!

The Votes Are In! Poll #4 Results

First, the public twitter poll with 51 votes:

  1. Exhibitionist Pervert – 16 votes (31%)
  2. Muscular Brute – 25 votes (49%)
  3. Drug Addict – 10 votes (20%)

Second, the patron only poll with 29 votes:

  1. Exhibitionist Pervert – 12 votes (41%)
  2. Muscular Brute – 12 votes (41%)
  3. Drug Addict – 5 votes (17%)

And the final result with all 80 votes:

  1. Exhibitionist Pervert – 28 votes (35%)
  2. Muscular Brute – 37 votes (46%)
  3. Drug Addict – 15 votes (19%)

Looks like Perrion is going to be packing on some muscle tomorrow!

I’ll Change for You (Part 9)

It was only half an hour or so, but it felt like an eternity. When the door to the bedroom next opened, the butler was there, now naked and wearing a set of leather manacles, and Burt entered the room, clad head to toe in a perfectly tailored leather suit, gloves and hat–though it was distinctly crotchless, allowing his massive, ten inch cock to hang free. “Now boy, why don’t the two of us pick up where we left off?”

Herman got on his knees before the dean, before his…Master, at least for the night, and sucked his cock, and once again, like before, Burt could feel the arousal welling up inside him, the pendant he had on under the leather shirt almost hot against his skin. But there was no fantasy running through his mind, not this time. Instead, everything around him became more and more vivid, every flick of Herman’s tongue across the head of his cock sending shivers running through his gut, massive thighs, and second and third chins. He knew what he wanted. He knew what they both needed.

“On the bed boy–that’s enough sucking. Daddy wants to see how his new boy’s hole feels.”

Herman was all too eager. Despite the pain in his gut, he got up and laid on his back, as Burt ordered him to do, legs in the air. Burt got up as well, pushed his legs back, and slowly slid the head of his cock into Herman’s ass. It was larger than anything he’d ever taken before, but somehow it slid right into him like it belonged there–because in Burt’s mind, it did. But it more than belonged in there, Burt could…see Herman now, the true version of him, at least a hundred pounds heavier than he was now, clean shaven from face to toe, his boy cock caged up, looking at his daddy while he fucked him with desperate desire…but beyond lust, he felt…love.

Love. A deep, unrelenting affection. This was more than he had with Jules, Jules was a meer mirage of this. No–he loved this boy. Loved him to the ends of the earth, loved him so dearly he would do anything for him, be anyone his boy desired him to be. And if his lovely, lovely boy desired nothing more than he be a short, obese, pipe smoking daddy bear with a ten inch cock, mercilessly ramming it deep into his ass while he cried out for more, and more, and more–well, then Burt was going to give it to him. He was going to give this boy everything he’d ever desired.

He came. He came, and he saw the shape of the boy’s moans resting in the air, he heard the color of his smooth skin, he felt their wills bending together, their fates melding into some singular strain of life. He felt a yes–a grand, all abiding yes resonating in their bones, tuned together as his boy came as well, a massive volley of cum erupting from his caged cock and up onto his heaving belly. He felt a mighty love warping them into shapes neither of them could have imagined, a terrible love, a horrific love, and he was left weak and trembling, tears streaming down his face from the beauty of it, and the sight of his daddy’s crying filled Hermy with great unease.

“Daddy? Daddy, what’s the matter?”

Burton gave his head a little shake, his eyes refocusing on the boy before him, and he smiled. He was happy. He was so…enormously happy. So happy, he could forgive the boy cumming without permission, all he wanted was to hold him tight to him for hours–and so he did. Jules came by a couple hours later, silently slipping open the door to see, and saw his two masters sleeping peacefully in each other’s arms, the lights still on in the room. He didn’t begrudge them, not anymore, though he had been so fiercely jealous of the boy those fifteen years ago, when the dean had met the newest member of the faculty and fallen deeply, inexplicably in love.

But now–now he couldn’t hold it against them, either of them. There was a place for him here as well, in service, but he could never come between them. There was no space there, they were…inseparable, somehow, in a way Jules couldn’t explain, not even after serving them all this time. It was a beautiful love, but also terrifying. Looking at them, he was crying without even knowing why, shaking as he turned out the lights, and retreated down to his small room in the basement, where he was safe, and alone.

It was a couple of weeks later now, and Spring had begun to shake itself from a dull and dreary Winter at long last. Burton and Hermy were striding down the street, hand in hand, discussing the work of the day. Unable to maintain a relationship at the college, Hermy had instead begun teaching at a local private school. It wasn’t his passion, and he did miss the research, but he knew it was for the best, so he could be with his daddy. He felt, at times, like he’d lost something, a piece of himself he hadn’t even been aware of having. It wasn’t his anymore–he’d given it away, and there was no getting it back.

He looked over and saw a strange old man, standing outside a shop somehow wedged impossibly between a bodega and old electronics shop. He was grinning, and watching them walk down the street together. He looked over at daddy, and he too had noticed him, and Daddy gave to old man the slightest of nods, like an old friend from another life, and then suggested they returned home for dinner.

In what way has your writing changed over the years? Do you see something that old you would not have done in writing , but present you is doing and vice-versa?

I think the thing that has probably developed most is a depth of character, and a depth of theme I wasn’t really capable of mustering when I was a newer writer. I think the best way to see the progression is to read the first BBOC story I wrote, and compare it to the new City of Bears piece I put out back in January. Especially because, now that I look at them again, they’re kind of similar in a lot of ways.

what kind of stories are in that compilation?

A lot of stuff. Quite a bit of slob content, if you like that sort of thing, including some scat. Weight gain and age progression feature in a lot of them as well. There’s a shorter Pigtown story, a sequel to “The Audition”, and a Halloween and Christmas themed story too. All of them are based off of previous flash fictions I wrote based off of suggestions by Patreon supporters over 2017, so if you’re curious, $1 dollar would get you access to those old files, and you could check out some of the themes for yourself.